


now i find i've changed my mind (and opened up the doors)

by spale_vosver



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Author is trans, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, M/M, Penis In Vagina Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Squirting, Trans Jonah Magnus, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, basically no one has made jonah nut before, so mordechai gives him a good first nut and he squirts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:47:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29926743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spale_vosver/pseuds/spale_vosver
Summary: For Jonah, sex has always been about power, even if it, for him, has never been enjoyable. So when Mordechai Lukas gestures towards his lap, he puts on a demure little smile, and obeys.And then Mordechai’s lips are on his neck, and-oh.----Jonah has never enjoyed sex before, despite frequently having it to establish dominance and control. Mordechai Lukas changes that.
Relationships: Mordechai Lukas/Jonah Magnus
Comments: 10
Kudos: 65





	now i find i've changed my mind (and opened up the doors)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a lovely conversation that was had in dubious in and of itself, where someone suggested Jonah having never gotten off with a partner before and it spiraled out from there. Naturally, I had to write a fill for it.
> 
> In this fic, Jonah is trans, and the words used for his equipment are cock and cunt.

For Jonah, sex has always been about power. 

It’s an intensely vulnerable act, to be sure, but that vulnerability lends itself to long lasting influence and control, two things that Jonah is _more_ than happy to gain, especially from an act that, among his peers, is near-universally expected to be performed, but that, for him, is never enjoyable.

His lack of enjoyment, he surmises, is a combination of multiple factors:

  1. Most men, delightful and charming as they are, are not usually _familiar_ with the intricate workings of his particular equipment, and, even when he’s tried to nudge them in the right direction (“yes, it feels good there, no, that’s a bit too rough”) they’ve never understood, content to simply thrust sloppily until their own release.  
  

  2. In somewhat of a counter to his brilliant mind, Jonah has been cursed with permanently racing thoughts. Unless he is truly, deeply invested in an activity, the experience is always, _always_ marred with tangents and extraneous strands that he is unable to prevent himself from wandering down. 



As such, Jonah has developed a remarkable talent for faking climax; it had been difficult, at first, but a bit of solitary exploration had given him the information he’d needed to reason out when to clench around his partner’s cock, when to bite out a whine through his teeth, when to rock back against them, so on and so on and so on.

He’s _not_ fond of the fact that he has to; he _wishes_ he could find intercourse as marvelous as everyone else seems to, but given that his experiences have been consistently mediocre, even with his frequently-changing cast of partners…

Well, Jonah’s always been a realist. 

And so, when one of Robert Smirke’s more public gatherings rather predictably devolves into open-mouthed kissing and shameless grinding, he prepares to slip comfortably back into that headspace, anticipating a quick fuck that’s all show and no substance, and when Mordechai Lukas gestures towards his lap, he puts on a demure little smile, and obeys.

“Are you a bit affected, sir?” he asks coyly, batting his eyelids. Mordechai doesn’t react beyond a quirked eyebrow, but that’s par for the course for him; the man is wrought of iron and ice, and Jonah doubts even one of Robert’s all-powerful Fears could get him to budge. 

“Mmm,” Mordechai rumbles, his large hand sliding up Jonahs’ thigh. “You might say that.”  
  
“Ah, poor man,” Jonah teases, and his smile twitches upward when Mordechai lets out a low laugh. 

“I’m rather a lucky man, I’d say, considering I got to you first.”  
  
And then Mordechai’s lips are on his neck, and- _oh_.

 _Good Lord_.

He’s- Jonah isn’t entirely sure where Mordechai _learned_ this; nothing about the man indicates that he’d have _any_ knowledge of- of enjoyable precoital play, and- _God_ , his _teeth_ ; Jonah’s neck has always teetered on the edge of too sensitive, and Mordechai’s teeth now teeter on the edge of too sharp; he trails a line up with lips and tongue, with playful nips and gentle sucks interspersed, and _Lord_ , the hand on his leg is rubbing at him now through his breeches, and Jonah can’t help but whine.

Mordechai chuckles again, a lovely, rich sound.

“A bit sensitive, are you, Magnus?”  
  
Jonah tries to huff, but it comes out closer to a whimper as Mordechai’s tongue traces patterns along his throat.

“That’s a yes, then, I’ll take it.”  
  
He keeps him like that on his lap for a few minutes, marking his neck so fervently that Jonah is _sure_ he’s going to look like he’s got a rash once he’s done and rubbing at the front of him skillfully enough that Jonah is _sure_ he’s started to leak through his breeches, before he suddenly stalls both. 

“Are you-” Jonah pants, and takes a moment to catch his breath. “Is something the matter?” 

“Well,” Mordechai begins, and shifts under him (Good _Lord_ , Jonah can _feel_ his erection), “It doesn’t seem quite fair to me that you’re still dressed.”  
  
Jonah snorts.

“Fair to _you_ , Lukas?”  
  
“Oh, yes,” he continues. “After all, you make such delightful sounds while clothed. Why should I be denied the sounds you make when fully bare?”  
  
“My pleasure is _not_ your entertainment,” he growls, though there’s no venom to his words in truth, and he even helps Mordechai relieve him of his breeches and underthings. At his words, Mordechai grins, considering, predatory. It’s the first time Jonah has _ever_ seen him smile.

“Then you seem to be mistaken about why our dear host has invited you. Your pleasure, dear boy, is _everyone’s_ entertainment.”  
  
So saying, Mordechai wastes no time in slipping a finger between Jonah’s legs. He finds his swollen cock with remarkable ease, and at the very first touch, Jonah _keens_ .  
  
Suddenly, he’s astutely aware that everyone in the room is watching him; he Knows that they’ve ceased their own activities, and are instead intensely focused on the pleasure Mordechai is giving him--no, no, that he’s _taking_ from Mordechai, he- he _takes_ it, because he takes control, he-

“ _Christ_ ,” Jonah gasps, because Mordechai’s just slipped a finger into his cunt, the bastard, and it’s filling him up in a way he’d not known was possible. He’s been filled up before, of course, and by much larger things, but this is- this is _lovely_ , really; by some trick or technique, the larger man knows _exactly_ how to angle his finger, to move it so that he never fully acclimates to the sensation, and-

“ _Oh!_ ”  
  
Mordechai rumbles a laugh, and thrusts his finger in the same manner, drawing another “ _oh!_ ” from Jonah; he’s hit something _good_ in him, and as Jonah bucks against him, eager for more stimulation, Mordechai says:  
  
“Quite a show you’re putting on for us. And you’re _sure_ that you’re not our entertainment?”  
  
Jonah doesn’t deign to give him a response, only bucks down harder against Mordechai’s hand. This pleasure, this- this actually _enjoying_ sex is a new frontier, but Jonah Magnus is _going_ to maintain control over the situation if it kills him (and the way Mordechai slips _another finger_ in ever-so-delicately might truly kill him). 

As if to emphasize his control, he divests his eyes from the man fucking him on his fingers, instead gazing around the room. His senses haven’t betrayed him: everyone in the room is focused on him (even if some of them are still aimlessly grinding), and, catching Barnabas Bennett’s eyes, he makes a show of arching his back and moaning, an act which is then met with a sharp jolt of Mordechai’s fingers.

“Eyes on me,” he says, and when Jonah doesn’t immediately obey, he tries a different approach and removes his fingers entirely. A (frankly pathetic) whine escapes Jonah’s mouth, which he attempts to muffle with a noise of disinterest.  
  
“That's all?” he asks, and makes to dress himself. “Content to just have me warm your fingers and give you a bit of prolonged eye contact?” From Mordechai’s silence, he thinks he’s cut him good and deep, gotten the upper hand.

And then Mordechai unbuttons his trousers.

 _Oh_. 

So that’s how it will be.

Mordechai is, unsurprisingly, quite large, and Jonah would be lying if he said the sight of him didn’t excite him just a bit. It’s not just length, either; Mordechai is _thick_ and _veiny,_ and there’s a lovely thatch of brown hair at the base that nearly spills over a pair of enticing bollocks, and for a moment Jonah considers the benefits of placing it in his mouth before he shakes his head.

Control. He’s here to establish himself as in control, both as an academic and as a sexual partner, and he needs to keep his reins taut ere he embarasses himself irreparably. 

Mordechai wraps a rough hand around himself, and strokes once, twice, from root to tip; his head cocks back, and he lets out a groan that has a new rush of wetness from Jonah soaking into his breeches, which only seems to encourage him.

Jonah is looking and he is Looking; he is knowing and he is Knowing; he probes into Mordechai’s thoughts, Knowing that he enjoys it rougher, slower, likes to savor the harsh treatment he gives himself, Seeing his intention to stuff Jonah full until he sobs. 

(Jonah makes a mental note to _not_ sob, just to spite him).  
  
After a few more times, Mordechai ceases, and pats his thighs. 

“Unless you think this is too big for you?”  
  
“Hardly,” Jonah scowls, and moves forward with intent; he allows Mordechai to lift him up, and positing him directly above his cock, and as he starts to sink down he vaguely worries that he’s not prepared enough, that such a big thing will _hurt_ , that-

The first press of Mordechai’s cock inside him quenches his frantic thoughts, and as more and more pushes in, there’s not much more in his head besides “God fuck more in me God more”; there’s not much more to _Jonah_ beyond that, either, and once he’s fully sunk down to the base, he can’t help a shudder.

“There you are,” Mordechai tells him, and strokes at his hair like a cherished dog. “Lovely. And quite tight.” He moves his hips, just a bit, and Jonah huffs a moan; at his reaction, Mordechai thrusts again, and as he strikes that _one spot_ , Jonah wails.

“Lovely.”

And then Mordechai grips Jonah’s hips, and begins to thrust with a slow, consistent rhythm, filling Jonah up and emptying him out in equal measure. Trying desperately to maintain any vestiges of dominance, Jonah presses his palms into Mordechai’s thighs, attempting to control the rate at which he’s bounced on the man’s considerable length. Mordechai promptly rebukes him with a sharp thrust and nails dug into his hips.

“Behave,” he warns, and Jonah, as if manipulated by some invisible thread, removes his hands. The effect that Mordechai has on him is undeniable, and inescapable; he pushes back as much as he’s pushed against, but it’s about as effective as a minnow attempting to use its own bodyweight to move Westminster Abbey; Mordechai is too determined, too formidable, too-

Jonah _sobs_ as one of Mordechai’s hands moves to rub at his cock, and he ruts needily against it, searching for more friction, more sensation, anything, anything, _more_ , and all at once, Jonah stops caring about the numerous eyes on him, stops caring about his status or how weak and useless he must look, stops caring about _anything_ besides the cock in his cunt and the hand on his own, and now there’s a coil steadily tightening in his lower stomach, and he’s felt this before, he has, he has, on his own with his own two hands, but it’s _more_ , it’s _more_ , and there’s a _pressure_ , something waiting to be released, and- and-

Jonah honest-to-god blacks out at first from the force of it all; his vision goes blank, his thoughts merge into an incomprehensible mush, the sensations of the cock and the hand and the release converging in on themselves to form one large sensation of Goodness and Pleasure. As he starts to reassemble himself, he becomes aware of Mordechai’s thrusts becoming sloppier, more erratic, and a pleasant warmth fills him, only adding to the garbled Good sensations he feels.

Half on instinct, half for comfort, Jonah presses a kiss to Mordechai’s lips, and despite some resistance, his kiss is met; it’s short, naturally, they’re still catching their breath, and once they pull away, they sort of pant into each other’s mouths for a good moment before either of them speak.

“You came on me,” Mordechai says, simply, and gestures to a new wet spot on his waistcoat. “A large amount, too; could probably collect enough in a wine glass to have a nice sip.”  
  
Jonah grimaces at the thought, and Mordechai makes a noise of amusement. 

“That’s a no on that, then, I assume.”  
  
“Quite,” Jonah says, and now that he’s come- wait.

He’s _come_. 

With- with someone _else_.

In front of-

Oh, dear God.

God, God, _God_ , he’s just-

And then a clap rings out in the room.

He looks around, and sees that it’s Robert Smirke, who has a pleased smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

Then Barnabas Bennett follows his lead, and then Jonathan Fanshawe, and one by one every man follows his lead, and Jonah realizes that they’re clapping for _him_ , a realization that’s compounded upon by Smirke’s declaration of “What a lovely performance!”

And then Mordechai is clapping too, and Jonah is _actively fighting back tears_ , God, when did he get so soft?  
  
Nevermind that. He’ll file that away to revisit later.

They’re clapping _for him_ , for his _performance_ , because he’s _pleased_ them; despite his lack of control, they...approve. 

(And, alright, maybe he lets a _few_ tears slip out).

* * *

After the party is consummately over, Jonah is the last to leave, as his self-cleanup had taken a bit longer than everyone else’s. As his coat is handed to him, Smirke places a familiar(?) hand on his shoulder.

“Lovely performance,” he says again, and his smile is gentle, genuine. Jonah feels a bit of warmth blossom in his chest. 

“I- right, thank you. So, is that a _normal_ thing here, or-”  
  
Smirke laughs.

“Oh, yes! Yes, it quite is. Don’t really recall _how_ it started, but it’s become standard practice for all men within our circle. Sort of a...group judging?” When Jonah cocks an eyebrow, he elaborates. “Not in an unpleasant way, mind, more of a...bonding activity. When someone performs to our liking, it is courtesy to applaud as a way to demonstrate approval, as well as to welcome them into the group at large.” He shakes his head. “Hard to explain, really. Just a tradition.”

Jonah nods. He's taken part in his fair share of odd rituals; he _did_ attend university, after all.

As he moves to leave, Robert asks:  
  
“I’m sorry, Magnus- do you mind if I call you Jonah?”  
  
“No, I don’t.”  
  
“I’ll remember that. Well, expect something from me in future. I should hardly think you’re done with my little study group.”

“Little? I should hardly think the group of men I saw tonight was _little_ .”  
  
Smirke laughs again, and his eyes shine with delight.

“In due time, Jonah. You’ll see in due time.”

* * *

A month later, Jonah receives an ornate letter, sealed with a wax stamp bearing Smirke’s emblem. 

_To Mister Jonah Magnus, on a friendly gathering of academics..._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! Comments and kudos are, as always, appreciated.
> 
> For more horny content, I can also be found on Twitter @spale_vosver.


End file.
